


Is This The Place

by TeacupNiffler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Manipulative Relationship, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Teenage Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26670148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeacupNiffler/pseuds/TeacupNiffler
Summary: Myrtle had only two friends at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one half-giant and a ghost. Myrtle knows she's not special, she's not pretty, nor smart, nor brave. She has very little but the stories she tells and a love for adventure, so why would an older student be paying her attention in her third year.
Relationships: Moaning Myrtle/Tom Riddle
Comments: 40
Kudos: 38
Collections: Sing Me a Rare: UK Invasion!





	Is This The Place

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing Me a Rare: The UK Invasion. Un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Huge thank you to all the admins, judges, authors and supporters of Sing Me a Rare 2020, what an incredibly talented, supportive bunch. I am astounded by the amount of love you brilliant people share every day and continually am inspired by your work 💙
> 
> Song Prompt – Somewhere Only We Know - Keane
> 
> I am utterly floored (no, seriously I cried on the floor) to announce Is This the Place received the following awards:  
> Winner- Best Unhappily Ever After  
> Winner- The One We Wish Was Canon  
> Winner- Admin Wish We'd Written This (Ravenslight)  
> Runner Up- The One That Never Leaves Us
> 
> Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.

Her father had been a grand adventurer. He'd travelled the world discovering jungles, conquering desert plains and diving the deepest oceans. That was how he'd met her mother, he had rescued her from the clutches of a treasure hunting bandit, and for years they'd explored together. 

These were things he had told her, wrapped under the blanket and whispering through flickers of torchlight. These were tales Myrtle grew up with and believed in.

Her father had been everywhere and been adored throughout the lands. Then her mother got pregnant, and her father decided to hang up his adventuring hat. They settled down outside of London, in a small house not far from her father's mother. The house was brilliant. Myrtle had grown up there, discovering the nooks and crannies. She knew every loose panel, every door that could be jimmied from its uneven supports. She built cubby houses from the old bricker-brac that lay in their yard. 

Her father had told her stories about them too. 

The broken jug was from the royal coffers of India, the sheet metal he’d used to repair his boat when they had been attacked by pirates, and the small chair she sat upon for afternoon tea was made from wood of elvish forests. 

If she closed her eyes and wished hard enough, she could see the fantastical places her father had travelled. She dreamt of winding paths, crooked branches leading her on her own adventures, where she too would be adored and revered. 

Her father told Myrtle that one day they would take her to explore those places. She'd ask them about them, ask where they were, why they weren’t on their cracked globe but her father would tell her, with a coy smile on his lips, 

"It’s somewhere only we know." 

Her father told her it was where her mother had gone after the funeral. She'd had to go adventuring, to find them new places. 

Grandmother said he was never quite the same without her mother. That when she left, she took a piece of his soul with her. That’s why he would lose himself sometimes- he’d yell and cry and break things. It was why he drank, to fill the hole where his soul should have been. That’s what Myrtle’s grandmother would tell her. 

Myrtle didn’t question then when her grandmother wrote to her before each holiday. 

_Your mother has been calling to your father of late; he has tried to go to her again. Best take care of yourself at school._

The old woman had seemed relieved when Myrtle had gotten her first Hogwarts letter. She’d scoffed at the witch that informed them of Myrtle’s true nature and given her blessing as long as she didn’t have to pay for it. 

Hogwarts was quiet during the holidays. Despite how few friends Myrtle had she missed the noise and the laughter term brought. Without Rubeus, Myrtle only had one companion who cared for her. The Grey Lady, Ravenclaw’s house ghost was a quiet and reserved sort. Not usually Myrtle’s type, she was too loud and too brash for most, but the Grey Lady liked the stories that she would tell. 

Myrtle had many stories. She told the Grey Lady of the lands her father had discovered, the places he had taken her mother and how their love had blossomed across seas and mountains. 

Myrtle would have that love one day. She too would find her own adventure, her own companions. 

She had thought it would be Hogwarts. A letter whisking her away to a new world, a world where she had supposed she would belong. Only Hogwarts hadn’t been that much different from her muggle school. Pretty girls thought Myrtle too ugly, rich girls thought her too poor, funny girls thought her too pushy, smart girls thought her too naive. 

Myrtle didn’t fit anywhere. She knew that, but it didn’t make her any less determined. One day she would find somewhere where she would be loved, somewhere she could share with her companions, and they would adore her. One day, she knew, she would have that. 

Mousy brown hair, matching muddy eyes covered by large, heavy glasses, a squeaky voice and a tendency to cry when she didn’t get her way, Myrtle Elizabeth Warren found few friends and little chance for anything more at Hogwarts. She had quickly set her eyes on the future. She would become a great witch, powerful and wise and set off on her own adventures once Hogwarts was complete. 

For now, Myrtle settled with dragging her lone living friend Rubeus into the Forbidden forest every chance she got and regaling her ghostly companion with their exploits. The Grey Lady was kind, and she never told the professors about Myrtle’s tales. Myrtle knew all the best places in the castle and its grounds, if she wasn't with the Grey Lady or Rubeus, she was exploring the castle for more hidden passageways and fleeting chances of discovery. She was often stopped, professors seemed to think her harmless but an irritant. Always sticking her nose where it didn't belong, Myrtle had found her way into almost all of the teachers’ offices at some point. She didn't take anything, that wasn't the point. She simply enjoyed knowing she had discovered these hidden places. 

Myrtle had informed the Grey Lady of nearly all these discoveries, and the Grey Lady would giggle softly under her breath, always glancing around as if nervous they should be caught. 

The first two years at Hogwarts had been calm for Myrtle and Hagrid, relative to their third of course. Though it was only October, already they had snuck into the forbidden forest three times, once bringing back puppies they had found abandoned under a broken log. Rubeus had kept them under his bed. Unfortunately, Rubeus’ roommate had been less than accommodating and informed the Headmaster of the animals. 

Rubeus was a good friend, which meant that while he spent the final weekend of that month in detention, Myrtle had been free to roam Hogsmeade for the first time. She’d reported back to her friend that there was some kind of card game played on Friday nights at the Hogshead and that at least once that year they would have to sneak out of Hogwarts to attend. 

Rubeus, although dubious, promised her that he would follow her lead and trusted her to keep them out of trouble. Then he went back to gutting flobberworms before Professor Dippet caught him dallying on his detention.

* * *

The Grey Lady didn’t like most people. Even many of the Ravenclaws. She kept to herself, often floating ominously throughout the stairwells where few could reach her. It was there in the evenings that Myrtle would seek her out. 

The Grey Lady was young, even in her pale translucent form Myrtle could see the youthful features of the girl. She had asked once, exactly how old she had been when she died but the Grey Lady only answered coyly. 

“Older than you, little adventurer, yet not old enough to be free of Hogwarts.” 

Myrtle couldn’t imagine dying so young. No more than seventeen the Grey Lady couldn’t possibly have had nearly enough adventures before her demise. It was one of the reasons Myrtle had been determined to involve her in her evening exploits. That, and because the Grey Lady was a vast wealth of knowledge that Myrtle wished sincerely to gain access to. 

Though they had been friends for nearly three years, Myrtle had only begun to learn about the Grey Lady’s life. She had begun whispering secrets she had learned in her living life, about people she had known, those that had attended Hogwarts hundreds of years before. 

Myrtle now knew Helga Hufflepuff’s favourite snack; she knew that Rowena Ravenclaw once hexed a student's robes to always be too tight when she insulted the witch’s fashion style and that Godric Gryffindor spent every morning polishing his sword. And Myrtle, although too young to really understand what exactly the Grey Lady meant, didn’t think they had been discussing the Sword of Gryffindor. 

Myrtle sought out books, determined to learn more about these great witches and wizards. To learn of their feats and why they had started Hogwarts when there were more adventures to be sought in the wide world. 

Myrtle didn’t tell any of this to the Grey Lady, not when the small ghost was busy pointing Myrtle to the best books in the Restricted Section of the Library. It was dark and growing late when Myrtle snuck through the stacks of books to retrieve the thick volume. It groaned as she pulled it off the shelf and the Grey Lady tittered nervously. Myrtle tried to flash her a reassuring smile, but it came out only as a grimace. 

Myrtle stuffed the book down her robes, hoping the fabric would stifle the noises the book made as she had yet to master the silencing charm and risked making the book moan at a deafening pitch. 

The ghost and the girl snuck back through the library and into the corridor. It was there the Grey Lady lost her delicate nerve, but Myrtle insisted she could manage on her own from there, all she needed to do was sneak back to the Ravenclaw common room and hide the book until her nosy roommates were gone. 

The Grey Lady floated away, passing effortlessly through the thick stone walls and leaving Myrtle to adventure alone. She wished Rubeus was with her, even though he was terrible at their more stealthy missions. 

Myrtle didn’t make it far. Robes uncomfortably pulled over her acquisition she hurried down the corridor only to skid to a halt when someone stepped into her path. 

“Out of bed for a late-night stroll?” 

Myrtle recognised the voice and its owner. Tom Riddle was the castles perfect prefect. Top of his class, admired by every girl in Myrtle’s year and a favourite of most of the professors. Myrtle shrugged, trying to act casual but she couldn’t help glancing behind herself to where the Grey Lady had disappeared moments before.

Riddle crossed his arms over his chest as he stared down the empty corridor. His chest blocked Myrtle’s path, his shinny Prefect badge catching the light of the walls' torches and glaring into her eyes.

“Were you speaking to the Grey Lady?” His tone had changed slightly. No longer cool and commanding but lilted with genuine curiosity. His eyes still lingered on the ghost’s point of departure.

“Yes.” Myrtle prayed a modified version of the truth might get her out of trouble. “She was helping with my History of Magic homework.”

Riddle finally looked down at her, his dark eyes studying her face carefully. Myrtle tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. Riddle was far taller than her; her nose reached the middle of his chest. His black hair was perfectly swept across his forehead, and slight curls styled to sit neatly to the left of his part. 

He was, as most girls at Hogwarts already knew, gorgeous. Myrtle felt herself blushing and looked at her feet. Riddle was two years above her, but already she knew his friends to be cruel. They mocked her in the corridors, called her a Mudblood but, she considered, Riddle had never joined in their torments. He was a model student, top of his class, and now he was staring at her with a soft smile on his thin lips. 

“You talk to the Grey Lady often?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

“I-” Myrtle stuttered and clutched her book tighter to her chest. It was the one the Grey Lady had directed her to, the one she had informed Myrtle detailed the lives of the founders of Hogwarts more than any other in the castle. It had been partially hidden, atop the shelves and was covered in a thick layer of dust. “Yes, sometimes. She knows a lot about history.” 

Riddle’s eyes drifted again, his eyebrows furrowing as he said, “I’m sure she does, but she is not… particularly amicable. Why would she be teaching these things to you…”

“Myrtle.” She supplied in his pause. “Myrtle Warren.”

“Miss Warren,” Riddle rolled the name of his tongue and Myrtle felt the heat she had been fighting rise back to her cheeks. His voice was like silk, caressing her name with his tongue as he eyed her carefully. “Why does the Grey Lady talk to you when she refuses to even engage with other students?” 

The way he said it made her think he had been one of the ‘other’ students dismissed by the ghost. 

“She’s not so bad,” Myrtle said confidently. She knew something he didn’t, and he seemed to listen keenly to her words. Myrtle threw her shoulders back, trying to remember her father’s comments on bravery. It wasn’t easy, Riddle’s eyes were dark and deep, Myrtle stuttered instantly as he raised an eyebrow at her. “She- she’s not very trusting, especially of Slytherins but she’s rather susceptible to flattery.” 

Riddle’s eyebrows rose again as he considered her words. Myrtle shifted, and the book in her robes tilted uncomfortably as she tried to scramble to get a better grip on it once more. 

“Perhaps,” Riddle said with a smirk, “you could introduce me sometime. Tell her I’m not bad… for a Slytherin.” 

“But-” Myrtle gulped, “I don’t know you.” 

“Perhaps you should get to know me.” Riddle smiled this time, a wide grin that showed his teeth and changed his face. He seemed brighter, younger and even more attractive. “Why don’t you show me that book you’re hiding, and I won’t take points from Ravenclaw for being out after curfew.”

* * *

She wanted to see him again.

It had been almost two weeks, but Tom took no further action to seek Myrtle out after their conversation that night. Myrtle, on the other hand, looked for him everywhere. She watched him in the corridors; she sat facing the Slytherin table at dinner time so that she could see him. Tom had taken her into an empty classroom, and she had shown him the book. They’d even read parts of it together; heads bent over the table as Tom’s low voice whispered passages about the Founders and their lives. Myrtle was interested in their adventures outside of the walls of Hogwarts, but Tom fixated on the castle and its creation. 

They had talked too about everything else. Myrtle had told him about her father, what a great man he was and about the Grey Lady. He seemed more interested in the ghost, but Myrtle didn’t mind, he had been polite as she spoke. He asked a few questions but never interrupted her. 

It hadn’t been until they had heard footsteps in the corridor that he had taken her back to the Ravenclaw common room. His hand had brushed against her back, gently leading her through the darkened corridors and sent nervous bolts of electricity running through Myrtle’s nerves. 

Now she wanted to see him again. 

Myrtle snuck further down the corridor, hoping she was right and that he would be there. It was passed curfew but if Tom, he’d allowed her to use his first name the last time, had the same Prefect rounds she should be able to find him. 

It was on the sixth floor that she located him, walking confidently down the corridor with his wand tip lit. 

“Hello, Tom.” Myrtle stepped out from behind a statue and smiled. She tried her best to hide her teeth, knowing they weren’t very straight nor very white. 

“Miss Warren,” Tom said with a small frown, “out after curfew again.” 

“I was talking to the Grey Lady,” Myrtle said, exaggerating only slightly. “And I must have lost track of time.” 

“The Grey Lady?” Tom purred, “and tell me, did you learn anything interesting from the ghost this week?” 

“I could tell you,” Myrtle shrugged, “I know lots of things the Grey Lady has told me.”

Tom hesitated for a moment, eyebrows furrowing while he glanced around the corridor. 

“I really shouldn’t be seen with you. It doesn't look very proper- a fifth-year caught after curfew with a third-year, and a prefect no less.” 

“We could go into a classroom,” Myrtle suggested, her voice nearing desperation. “Like last time.” 

“We were almost caught last time.” Tom smiled at her, his tone almost suggesting there was something more they could be caught for than just reading a book. Myrtle’s heart beat a little faster. “It is a shame, I would have loved to hear about your stories with the Grey Lady.” 

Tom lowered his wand and made to move past her, but in a moment of panic, Myrtle realised there was one place she knew of where they wouldn’t be disturbed. 

“Wait,” she breathed nervously, “I know somewhere, but you have to promise you’ll never tell a soul. It has to be somewhere only we know.” 

Tom turned to look at her curiously. She loved the way he watched her when she did something to surprise him, the way his dark eyes raked across her. 

“Lead the way.” 

As Myrtle walked next to Tom, his taller frame shadowing her Myrtle had a moment of doubt. She had sworn to never tell a soul about the place. The Grey Lady had told her about it at the beginning of the year. It had been after Myrtle had bragged she knew every secret passageway and room in the castle. The witch had smugly asked her if she had found the one on the seventh floor. 

She had promised never to tell anyone else about what the Grey Lady called the Room of Requirements. Not even Rubeus knew of its existence but as Tom’s footsteps echoed her own Myrtle’s heart beat faster. 

This was right, she told herself, she could share this with him. Everyone needed someone to share their adventures with, and Myrtle was hopeful that Tom would want to share hers. 

* * *

“Do you think you can obliviate ghosts?” 

“What?” Tom stopped reading and looked at her. “Why would you need to do that?” 

Myrtle held up her book. 

“Here.” She pointed, “It says that this wizard killed his best friend to stop him from incriminating him for forgery but what if his friend came back as a ghost. Then he’d be able to incriminate you for forgery and murder.” 

“No,” Tom said, “from what I remember you can’t obliviate ghosts.” 

“Right.” Myrtle muttered to herself, “I’ll remember that.” 

She laid back down on the ground, her head resting against Tom’s calf and her brown hair laid across his leg. It wasn’t much, but even this much contact had Myrtle in a state. One that usually had her asking strange inane questions to cover her nervousness. 

“Planning on murdering anyone soon, Myrtle?” Tom raised an eyebrow. 

Myrtle blushed and hid behind the book. 

“No.” She smiled, “but if I do, I’ll remember to obliviate them before I kill them to make sure they don’t remember me.” 

“Right.” Tom’s voice was sceptical from behind her, but Myrtle grinned at her book. 

They had been to the Room of Requirement many times now, often a few times a week. The Room changed depending on their needs but Myrtle’s favourite was still the first one. She had wanted to show Tom somewhere truly perfect and begged the room to show her the place she had been dreaming of. 

Upon entering they were in a wide, open forest with a lake edge nearby. It was perfect, everything Myrtle had dreamed about when her father told her the stories of such places. She knew the pathways like the back of her hand as she led Tom into the room. 

It had taken some explaining but once he understood Tom had looked at her with renewed fascination. Now they met regularly in secret. 

Today they sat by the lake, reading quietly together. The Grey Lady had directed Myrtle to several books that Tom had been interested in, and she’d brought them to him willingly that evening. 

Tom generally read while they were together, but he didn’t mind Myrtle talking. She told him about her plans to adventure after Hogwarts. Tom had agreed that he too wanted to travel and Myrtle couldn’t help but scribble small maps in the margins of her scrolls wondering if perhaps one day they would travel together. 

Myrtle had attempted to ask the Grey Lady if she could introduce a friend to her, but the Ravenclaw ghost had been hesitant. Tom had been annoyed at first, but Myrtle promised she would ask again soon. In the meantime, Myrtle would ask the Grey Lady questions that Tom had questioned her about, and Myrtle was always eager to meet with Tom again to relay the information. 

Rubeus had been upset when Myrtle stopped spending so much time with him in the evening. She had claimed that she was studying in the Ravenclaw common room and Rubeus had been easily soothed when the other muggleborn students of the school started getting attacked. 

So far only two students had been harmed, although both were now perfectly fine from a restorative draught made of mandrake. 

It seemed difficult for Myrtle to be worried. So far nothing out of the ordinary had happened to her, even with her evening rendezvous’ with the Grey Lady and Tom. Myrtle admitted to herself that perhaps she was a little selfish, too caught up in the attention of the older boy to pay attention to the anxious hush that had fallen over Hogwarts in the past few months. Then again, with everyone left unharmed after their petrification, it hardly seemed too bad. 

Myrtle was sure the teachers would catch the culprit soon. 

* * *

“I got you something for Christmas.” Myrtle bounced toward Tom. It was their first time seeing each other in weeks. Myrtle had gone home for Christmas for the first time since starting Hogwarts. 

She held out a small wrapped rectangle which Tom took from her hands gently. 

“What is it?” he turned it as if he had never seen a present before. 

“Open it!” Myrtle laughed, she had missed him. She’d thought about what to get him all holidays and spent all her money on the extra embossing. 

Tom looked at her dubiously but pulled the wrapping paper off. A dark leather book fell into his hands, and he inspected it. It was simple, a plain cover and on the reverse his name in gold lettering. When Tom said nothing, Myrtle pointed at it. 

“It’s a diary.” 

* * *

“Where have you been?” Tom said urgently, tugging Myrtle to the side of the corridor as she ran down the seventh-floor corridor.

“Sorry,” Myrtle was breathing heavily. She’d run from Hogsmeade with Rubeus. “We went to Hogsmeade, to the Hogshead, and there was this card game-”

“-I don’t need the details-” Tom looked annoyed, his face pinched as he hid them in the alcove together. Myrtle was already thirty minutes late for their usual meeting time. She knew he liked punctuality, they had been meeting twice a week for almost three months now, and she thought she knew Tom well. 

“And we played this guy, super weird. In a cloak right, all dark and suspicious. And we won, Tom!” 

“I just said I don’t want to hear your excuses.” 

“But we won this egg.” Myrtle finally breathed in, “It’s only little now, but he said it, whatever’s inside, would grow huge. Rubeus is going to hatch it.” 

“Warren!” Tom hissed, shaking her by the shoulder. 

Myrtle blinked at the rough movement. 

“Sorry.” She muttered again, “I didn’t mean to be late.” 

“I thought you were meant to be meeting with the Grey Lady.”

“I was but Rubeus-” 

“So instead of doing as I asked you decided to go traipsing about with that big oaf? You’d rather spend time with a half-breed than with me?” 

Myrtle blinked at him. She’d never heard Tom use such a word. He loomed over her, blocking her in the small space. 

“I-” she stuttered, “I’m sorry. I asked the Grey Lady if we could meet later, because… well because I asked her if it was okay for me to introduce you to her… and she said yes.” 

Tom’s face softened, and his grip on his shoulder turned into a gentle stroke. 

“She said yes?” His voice was velvet as he circled his arm around her shoulder. 

“Yes.” Myrtle whispered, “but, Tom, Rubeus is my fri-” 

Tom sighed, and his round eyes looked at her. 

“Myrtle, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Of course, he is your friend. I was… I was just worried about you.” 

_Worried_? Myrtle’s heart skipped a beat. 

“You were?” she breathed, “About me?” 

Tom smiled, one of his genuine smiles that she loved so much. He pulled her close to him, bundling her under his shoulder. “Of course, Myrtle, I was waiting for you to make sure you were safe.” 

Myrtle breathed out a soft sigh as Tom walked her down the dim corridor. 

“So,” he said, “why don’t we go to the room, and you can tell me all about your little adventure before we meet with the Grey Lady?” 

* * *

“Myrtle Warren if you got any stupider you’d be as dense as your fat arse.” Olive Hornby’s laugh bounced around the stone wall. 

Myrtle’s shoulders hunched in as she tried to ignore the taunts. They weren’t the first she had received from the witch, and she knew they wouldn’t be the last. However, they hurt all the more when Myrtle’s life seemed so dim. 

Rubeus, sitting beside her, had convinced her to join him in the courtyard rather than sulking back to her room once more that week. She had been avoiding her friend for days, too miserable to handle his usual cheerful attitude. 

Myrtle hadn’t spoken to Tom in days, near weeks. He seemed to be engulfed by his Slytherin friends, and the few times she had caught him alone he had informed her he was far too busy to spend time with her 

The last time they had been alone together had been just before she had introduced him to the Grey Lady. She had been proud at first of how well they had gotten along. Tom was charming, incredibly so, and with only a few reassurances, the ghost had taken to him. 

Now, alone and confused, Myrtle was regretting her decision. She had tried to talk to the Grey Lady two days before, but the ghost had informed her that she couldn’t sneak into the library with her as she was busy. Myrtle had gone to the library alone, but on the way back she had seen Tom and the ghost talking in the seventh-floor corridor. Their heads had been bent together, and Tom whispered to the ghost only stopping when he saw Myrtle. 

He had quickly reminded her that teachers were patrolling and she should go back to her common room. The Grey Lady had looked sheepish but agreed. 

“Myrtle! I heard your father is a muggle adventurer. What did he discover? The bottom of a bottle!”

“Just ignore her” Rubeus muttered over his book. “Yer know what she’s like.” 

Myrtle flicked a page of her book as Olive tried to capture her attention again. 

“Best read as much as you can now, Warren, soon your head will be too fat for your glasses to fit!” 

Myrtle spat curses under her breath as the courtyard was filled with titters. This time it was not only from Olive and her friends but deeper male voices. Myrtle glanced a quick look, and her heart sank. A collection of Slytherin boys now gathered in the courtyard, and to Myrtle’s horror, she saw Tom standing amongst them. 

“Moaning Myrtle!” Olive called from across the square, “Moaning Myrtle mopes like a moody mummy when her monthly makes her-” 

“Oi, shut it, Hornby!” Rubeus stood up abruptly, knocking his book from his lap and bumping his shoulder against Myrtle. 

Unfortunately, it only took a bump for Myrtle to be thrown from her seat, knocked backwards from Rubeus’ force she tipped over the stone wall. Myrtle cried out as she tumbled backwards, her legs thrown over her head and skirts cascading over her face. 

“I’ve seen Myrtle’s knickers!” Olive screeched loudly, “I’m going to go blind! Did you see? Great big granny knickers, I swear!” 

Myrtle scrambled off the ground, trying to right herself when Rubeus’ hand fell on her shoulder. 

“I don’t need your help!” Myrtle felt angry tears spring to her eyes. “Look where you’re going, you big oaf!” 

The words were out of her mouth before Myrtle could stop them. Rubeus stood still for a moment before turning and marching out of the courtyard altogether. He left his books and all his belongings behind at her feet. 

Olive laughed heartily and was joined by the Slytherin boys. 

“Looks like you’ve lost your only friend, Myrtle.” Olive laughed at Rubeus’ retreat. 

“Didn’t know Mudbloods cared about half-breeds,” said one of the Slytherins, “you’d think they’d be happy to filthy themselves up some more with half-breeds. Not like they’re fit for any decent wizards, eh?” 

The wizard sounded moronic; syllables closer to grunts than words but regardless the others laughed along with him. Myrtle wiped tears from her cheeks, even as Olive cried. 

“Here come the waterworks! Moaning Myrtle! Moaning Myrtle!” 

“Merlin,” another Slytherin groaned, “here’s hoping she’s the next Mudblood for the Heir. If I have to listen to that pathetic noise, I’ll off her myself.” 

Myrtle stood in the middle of the courtyard while the students laughed at her. She had never been so alone. Rubeus was gone. The Grey Lady spent more time with Tom than she did with Myrtle nowadays. And Tom… 

Myrtle looked up, seeking comfort from the one person she held out hope might still like her. He had been distant ever since she had introduced him to the ghost but it might have been coincident, he was approaching his O.W.Ls. 

Myrtle’s eyes searched him out now, desperately hoping he would do something. Even just a look, if she knew someone was on her side, she would be okay.

Tom was in the middle of the group, lounging against the wall while a girl leaned into him, her dark curly hair cascading over her shoulders and onto his as she fawned on him. 

Tom himself was laughing. _Laughing_. His chest heaved as the other boys looked at him, smiling as Tom laughed along with their joke. Myrtle’s heart sank as she watched on, desperately hoping this was just a mask. He needed to keep them a secret, but this… this was wrong. 

Tom’s eyes finally met hers, and for a moment, Myrtle thought she might see something in them. Some reason for him to be laughing at her shame. Instead, his dark eyes inspected her quickly, and his mouth turned up into a sneer before he looked away as if bored. 

Myrtle’s chin wobbled, and more tears dripped down her cheeks. He didn’t care, and he chatted casually while Myrtle was mocked. 

The great castle seemed to loom over them; it’s stone walls casting a shadow over the scene as Myrtle felt herself breaking slowly into pieces. She ran then, leaving behind her belongings and fleeing.

* * *

The heavy bathroom door opened and closed with a thud, making Myrtle flinch as she sobbed to herself. 

Myrtle rocked herself, arm clinging to the baggy sleeves of her cloak. She pulled her feet up on top of the toilet and stuffed the damp fabric of her sleeve into her mouth lest Olive Hornby decide to come and torment her some more. 

It wasn’t until she heard the deep tones speaking a language she didn’t understand that Myrtle realised it was not a girl outside the toilet door. A male voice murmured from across the bathroom. It was familiar, and with a heart that flickered with hope, Myrtle climbed off the porcelain and creaked open the door of her stall quietly.

Tom stood in the middle of the bathroom, his mouth moving quickly as the great stone basin groaned ominously. Had he come to see her? Myrtle pushed the door open further, something welled in her chest. He was there. Perhaps it had all been a misunderstanding.

“Tom?” Myrtle took another step out of the stall, the great creaking of stone stopped.

Tom turned to her as she stepped out of the stall door. Myrtle smiled at him, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. He didn’t like it when she cried. She took a few steps towards him, then stopped.

“What are you doing here?” Tom’s voice had gone cold, and his body held rigidly still as he watched her approach.

“I- I thought…”

Myrtle was close enough to study his face now. The face she had stared and wondered at for months. His hair was swooped neatly, styled to frame his pale-skinned face. He was beautiful, as always. His starched white shirt covered by the pressed black robes; his green Prefect badge shined. It reflected in his dark eyes, making them shine in the dimly lit bathroom.

Myrtle waited for the curl of his lips, the small smile he reserved for her and only her to appear but it didn’t. Instead, Tom’s eyes narrowed, inky black pupils stared at her as she nudged her glasses back onto her face and sniffed.

“You thought I came for you.”

Myrtle nodded slowly. Tom seemed to stroke something on the taps, his fingers caressing the metal as he smiled at it. Myrtle didn’t know what was going on, but Tom’s behaviour seemed strange. He looked at the taps longingly once more before turning his eyes to her. 

They held no longing. Myrtle felt a shiver run up her back as Tom sighed to himself. He rolled his shoulders and looked at the roof for a moment. 

“You are such a simple thing, Myrtle,” Tom said finally, his eyes dropping to hers in a cold stare. “You will give everything for a shred of affection. So simple, so easy.”

Myrtle frowned at him, confused as Tom cocked his head and looked at her, a hint of a smirk on his face. 

“Did you seriously believe that I could ever feel something for someone so dim-witted as you.” The smirk spread slowly as he spoke, “Oh, you had your uses, I’d been trying to get the information from that ghost for years, but now I have what I need, and I find you nothing more than an annoyance in my ear—following me around, begging for attention. Myrtle, you have served your purpose. I’m afraid our time together has come to an end.”

“What? Tom… I… we.... but-”

“You and your incessant rambling.” Tom sneered, his lip curling as he tilted his head back. “All those stupid stories about your father. Your filthy, muggle father.” 

“They’re not stories.” Myrtle wiped another tear from her face. “They’re true. My father is a great adven-”

“Your father is a liar and a drunk, I’ve heard the Professors whispering. Your mother was lucky to be rid of both of you.” 

Myrtle’s back pressed against the wood of the stall, even through her cloak she could feel the paint crumbling and catching on the fabric, splinters threatened to dig past her clothes and imbed themselves in her flesh. 

“I don’t understand.” Her chin wobbled, “Why are you saying these things?” 

“Because you have come to the end of your use” Riddle’s words were soft but his face anything but, it contorted into a foul grimace just looking at her huddled form. “You are nothing but a simpering, whining, weeping…” 

Tears poured down her face as Myrtle sniffled loudly. Fat wet tears dripped under her glasses, forcing them to slide down her nose as her vision blurred. 

“I’m not.” She sobbed at him. 

“You are.” Tom hissed coming towards her. 

She saw nothing there. No love, no pity, no affection. It had all been a lie; he had never cared for her.

“You are nothing but a pathetic little witch. Little Moaning Myrtle, alone in the girls’ bathroom with no friends.” 

“Tom.” Myrtle cried again, “Tom, why are you doing this? Why are you saying these things? Tom-”

“Don’t call me that name,” Tom shouted, his voice bouncing off the tiled walls and reverberating in her ears. “A filthy muggle name. I am much more than that.” 

He took a menacing step towards her, his wand arm raised and Myrtle cowered. She wanted to be brave, to challenge him but her body moved of its own accord, shrinking away from him as his eyes glinted. 

“I am Lord Voldemort.”

Myrtle shook at the words, his voice so loud now it consumed her body. 

“I don’t know what that means.” She sobbed, clutching the pillar. 

“Of course you don’t, you’re nothing but a worthless-” Tom paused and cocked his head. His curls danced across his forehead; in the way she had so admired before. He was staring at her, eyes consuming her for assessment much like he had the first time they had met in the corridor. “Or perhaps not so worthless.” 

Tom smiled a wide gentle smile that had Myrtle hiccupping. He looked almost normal, like the Tom she knew. _Her_ Tom. 

From the pocket of his robes, Tom drew something small and square. The diary, Myrtle realised. The one she had given to him for Christmas. On the back, gold lettering flashed the wizard's name. She had adored that name. Written it all over her scrolls, even combined it with her own. She had secretly hoped someday she would be Mrs Riddle. She’d practised the signature she would take when she would sign her name proudly next to his. 

“Myrtle.” Tom’s voice was softened as he came towards her. Myrtle looked up at him as he leant down in front of her, the diary she had given him held tightly in his hand. “Myrtle, I need something from you.” 

Myrtle’s eyes darted back and forth across his face. _Tom, her Tom_. His soft features and warm eyes looked at her kindly. One hand gently tilted her chin up and smiled at her. 

“Wh- what?” Her chin quivered, her mind still lagging far behind his sudden turn. He had just been cursing her, calling her worthless but now he needed her, he was holding her face lovingly in his hands. 

Myrtle lifted her hand and placed it over his. His touch was gentle and warm, but Myrtle frowned. She pushed his hand away, and instantly Tom changed again. His face hardened, and instead of holding her gently, his hand grabbed at her collar. Myrtle screeched as he dragged her to him. 

“Fine.” His face contorted in anger, and he held her close as he hissed at her. “I thought you might comply, but I see I’ll have to do this myself.” 

Riddle pushed his wand up against her throat while Myrtle squirmed. 

“First, let’s make you a little more compliant, shall we? You’re a tricky little witch, and I don’t need you blabbing in case anything goes wrong.” 

“No, Tom, please.” Myrtle scratched at his arm as his wand travelled to her forehead. “I won’t tell anyone. I won’t tell anyone I even know you, please.” 

Tom smiled. This smile was not one of warmth or affection; it was twisted with glee. He was revelling in her anguish. 

“Don’t worry, Myrtle. I’ll make sure you can never tell anyone.” He dragged her upright and threw the diary on the floor in front of them, wand still pointed at her forehead. “I suppose I should thank you, Myrtle. You are going to be my first. I’ve been waiting for this for months, I was hoping for something a little more illustrious than a muggle diary, but I suppose it will do for sentimental reasons.” 

Myrtle tried to beg, she tried to pull herself from his grip, but he was too strong. 

“Goodbye, Myrtle Elizabeth Warren.” He spoke calmly, a smile still playing on his lips. “ _Obliviate_.” 

* * *

The Grey Lady had been right about one thing. There was nothing in the world that could compare to looking down at one's own body and coming to the damning conclusion that they were dead. 

Myrtle looked down at her own pale, limp form as it leaned against the door of the bathroom. Olive Hornby was screaming behind her now. Myrtle turned, disoriented with her new body's tendency to float rather than walk, and tried to glare at her bully as the wide-eyed girl stared through her non-corporeal form and continued to scream. 

Myrtle thought it rather rude, honestly, to interrupt this moment of contemplation. It wasn’t every day that one found themselves outside their own body, looking at it and realising they were dead. Myrtle had only been there for a few moments before Olive arrived, barely able to comprehend what had happened and how she now found herself lifeless, when it was ruined by the most annoying person in her life. 

Olive didn’t even bother to ask her ghostly companion what had happened. Myrtle didn’t actually know what had happened just that she was dead. Everything was still so fuzzy as she adjusted to her new perspective, but it would have been nice for someone to at least ask her if she was okay.

Myrtle was surprised really, at how little attention she received as professors and other students poured into the room. They stared, or screamed, some even wept, though more at the horror of seeing her dead body than for the fact her ghostly form stood in the corner watching it all play out. 

Only one seemed to look at her. He was tall and stood at the back of the crowd, his dark hair framing his pale face as he stared at her. As Myrtle blinked at him blankly, he smirked.

It was Professor Dippet, who pushed through the crowd of students, that seemed to notice her first. 

“Miss Warren,” Dippet’s voice seemed to catch in his throat at seeing her, “what happened here?” 

Myrtle blinked up at him slowly. 

“I don’t know, sir.” She said finally, she raised a hand to push her glasses up her face but found nothing for her to move. The ghostly apparition of her glasses sat halfway down her nose, uncomfortably low and immovable. 

“You don’t- You are a ghost, girl. Explain yourself.” 

“I-” Myrtle stopped, trying to search her thoughts, but they were drifting away from her. Her mind tried grasping for them, but like ghostly wisps, they slipped through her fingers. “I was in the bathroom, sir. I was crying because I’d fought with a boy…” 

“A boy?” Dippet stepped forward as if he thought to shake her before realising. “Which boy, Mr Hagrid? He is your friend, yes? You fought with Mr Hagrid, so you came to the bathroom?” 

Myrtle blinked, it seemed… close? She wasn’t sure. Hagrid was her friend, her only friend and the only boy she ever talked to. 

“I- I suppose, sir, I don’t remember. I was in the bathroom over there.” Myrtle pointed to where her body had been, then to the ground beneath her feet. “Then I was here, and I was floating and looking at myself. Only I was dead.” 

* * *

Myrtle stood in the hospital wing. She didn’t know why they had sent her there; nothing could be done for her. No magic could heal her now, so she stood there behind the curtain.

“Miss Warren,” the curtain drew back, and Professor Dippet appeared once more. “Oh, yes, you are still here.” 

He seemed to pause as if waiting for her to offer an alternative. Where else was she meant to go?

“Yes, sir.” Was all she could offer him. 

“Good news, Miss Warren, we’ve apprehended the… well, who… you... And this.” He waved his hand at her form. “We’ve apprehended the culprit. Well, I say we, but it was Mr Riddle, you know Tom Riddle-” 

“No, sir.” Myrtle frowned, it seemed familiar, but she had no memories to go along with the name. “I don’t know Mr Riddle. Did he do this? Kill me?” 

“Oh no, my dear. Mr Riddle has apprehended the man responsible.” The professor gestured with one hand, indicating she should follow him. “You don’t know Mr Riddle? Are you sure, he’s a prefect, Slytherin, top of his class.” 

Dippet sounded proud as he gave Myrtle a wide berth and gestured her further down the hospital wing, towards one of the back offices. 

Prefect. Slytherin. Riddle. 

“Yes, perhaps.” Myrtle murmured, she remembered something now. A dark hair boy- tall, attractive, he’d docked points from her once after catching her coming back from a rendezvous with the Grey Lady. 

Myrtle’s mouth dragged at that. The Grey Lady didn’t like other ghosts, would she still be friends with Myrtle now that she couldn’t tell her stories of all the adventures she and Rubeus went on. 

_Rubeus_. 

“Sir,” Myrtle said, suddenly desperate for a friend who wouldn’t lead her around like a disturbing pet. “Sir, please, could I see my friend?” 

“Your friend, dear?” The professor opened the door to a small office and ushered her inside quickly.

“Rubeus Hagrid.” Myrtle was busy looking around the strange room that she had been led into that she didn’t notice the way the Headmaster flinched at her words. “He’s my friend. I’d like to see him if I could.” 

“Ah,” The Headmaster shuffled uncomfortably. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss Warren. You see…”

Myrtle turned to look at the older man, who had pulled his tall wizarding hat from his head and twisted it in his hands. 

“...The thing is, dear, that Mr Hagrid is no longer at Hogwarts.” 

“Not at Hogwarts?” Her death seemed a rather inopportune time for her best friend to be on an adventure. Maybe he didn’t know yet. Myrtle wasn’t really sure how much time had passed since she had been bustled with awkward gestures and pained expressions through the castle to the hospital wing.

“No, he’s being escorted to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by several Aurors and Professor Dumbledore as we speak. He is, I’m afraid, the one responsible for your death.” 

Myrtle stared. No, no, that wasn’t right. Rubeus wouldn’t have done this to her. Couldn’t have done this to her. It wasn’t…. He didn’t…. She couldn’t remember. Nothing came to her in his defence, nothing but their argument and the sound of a boy's voice before yellow eyes stared into hers and she was gone. 

“Oh, dear.” Dippet had stopped staring at her and was now anxiously looking out of the doorway. “You should stay here, Miss Warren, I’m afraid I must ask you to remain hidden.” 

“Hidden, sir?” Her voice wavered. She couldn’t even sit down on the chair; ghostly movements still didn’t seem to work for her. It was safer if she stayed floating until she worked out how not to sink through the floor. 

“Yes, muggles you see. It wouldn’t do for them to see you-” he waved at her form, “not when they’re here to see, well… you.” 

“Muggles?” Myrtle tried leaning forward to look around the professor, but already he was closing the door in her face. 

Had she thought about it, the door was incapable of stopping her, but she found herself listening to her teacher even as he hissed through the crack. 

“They are muggles, Miss Warren. They cannot see you like this; they cannot know that you remain.” 

“Who?” Myrtle whispered back. 

“Your father.” Dippet frowned at her, “and your Grandmother. I’m sorry, dear, but they’ve come to see your body. You can’t see them. They would never understand. You have to let them go.” 


End file.
